Between eyes

And little sticky palms

Aren’t clean until the

Nightmare splits

The men I love don’t debut with DUMBA
They eat well
Marry early
And have little care for the credence
Of this year’s Biennial
They don’t crawl around at night
Seeking for what they can understand
Since most of the instructions in life
Come in their language
They berate rarely ever
On the things I care so deeply about destroying
And usually live each and every day
Very well
The men I care about
They’ve never seen films
About the spaces in between people
And how lips shine under camera light
Or the darker vignettes
Surrounding lay men
And their followers
Great and consistent
Salient and sanguine
The men I want
Are happy to never move
They are the types that lose a dare
But give a truth
To someone they’ve had in mind for years
Usually a teacher of brats
And salty tear suckers
The men I love
No, they don’t live near Basque
Or the democratized areas of Africa
They worship folders that bond well
And programs that barely freeze
The men I take long adolescent showers for
Live in the July’s of the year
They spend their time on a relaxing street
Without waiting
Because all of what they want is clearly
Out front and in daily sunshine